We Will Take You Back
by JakkyLovesScreamer
Summary: Post DL-6 Case Closing, AU in which Edgeworth has some difficulty coping, but decides to stay and let Phoenix help him through it.
1. A Request

Chapter 1: A Request

"Wright."

The attorney pauses at the sound of his name as he strides out of the defendant's lobby. To his surprise, it's Edgeworth who has called him.

"What do you need?" Phoenix asks, still harsh from the trial, but regrets it instantly when he sees the look on Miles' face. He hasn't seen that look since the DL-6 incident last month. "What's wrong?" He presses immediately, concerned.

Miles fidgets, uncomfortable. He seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "You became a lawyer because you wanted to help people, right?"

Puzzled, Phoenix replies, "Yeah, how come?"

Edgeworth looks down, brow furrowed, for a long moment. Phoenix repeats himself, and the prosecutor comes out of his trance, shaking his head. "It's nothing," he decides, waving a hand at Phoenix and walking away.

Wright was worried at the beginning of the interaction, and his concern only grew tenfold by the end of the conversation. Despite his words, Edgeworth's eyes begged for help. Phoenix thinks this over and decides he will do whatever he must to figure out what is wrong with his friend.

Over the next week, Phoenix observes Miles. In court, he appears to act normally, but when he tries to approach him anytime that's not in the courtroom, Miles runs away without speaking a word. It is only once he enlists the help of Gumshoe, who has noticed something off about Edgeworth as well, that he can even get acknowledgement from him. Even then, they have to ambush him and it's like pulling teeth.

"Miles," Phoenix says calmly, casually. "How are you?"

"Busy," he replies immediately, and turns to leave. Phoenix is thankful that the detective blocks his path.

"We haven't seen much of you lately," Gumshoe adds, a gentle smile on his face. His mannerisms are welcoming. "Me and Phoenix are going to lunch. You should come," he offers.

"I have another case," says Miles, turning from both the detective and the attorney. The pair notice the distant look in his eyes, and they both silently agree that he needs to come with them.

"No, you don't," Phoenix insists, "Who's the defense attorney?"

Edgeworth stays silent at that, but keeps his gaze adverted.

"Sir, please come with us," Gumshoe whispers, and at that, he looks up. He is annoyed, but behind that the detective can see something is definitely wrong.

"Very well," he finally agrees l, however quietly. They head out together.

"I'll take the stairs," Edgeworth says as they exit the lobby, immediately walking away from Phoenix and Gumshoe before they can protest. He knows Phoenix will press him later, but for the time being, he disregards it, enjoying the silence as he shuffles down the steps.

There are several flights, so at first, Miles doesn't realize that he is being followed. He nears the end and slows, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He adjusts his clothes, but his pants pull across his thighs, making him wince audibly. He hears a gasp in response and realizes he is not alone. Whipping around, he spots Phoenix and the top of the flight.

"Please, Miles, tell me what's wrong," he begs, stepping closer.

Instinctually, Miles steps back, only to fall off the last step and land flat on his ass. Wright hurries down to help him, but Miles is up before he can reach him.

"I told you, it's nothing. Forget it."

Phoenix sighs. "Why did you gasp just now?"

Edgeworth's annoyance grows. "I'm not a case for you to solve, Wright. Drop it." He turns his back to Phoenix to wait for the elevator, but the defense attorney persists.

"I'm asking because I care, and because we're worried about you."

"We?" Edgeworth scoffs just as the elevator opened. Gumshoe is smiling, but it quickly fades to a look of concern.

"Yes, we," Wright repeats. He goes to place a reassuring hand on Miles' shoulder, but withdraws as he suspects that he will only flinch away.

"I'm fine," Miles insists, awkwardly sandwiched between Gumshoe and Phoenix. His breathing is a little heavier than usual, and his eyes are darting in every direction. Phoenix realizes that he is probably claustrophobic, and steps back, relenting.

"Alright, but tell us if you aren't alright. If it's anything at all, okay?"

Miles nods, but the grimace on his face says that he probably won't reach out to his friends, even if he needs to. Phoenix sighs, and the three of them walk out onto the street.

The bar that they end up at is only a few blocks away from the courthouse, but it's not terribly dingy. It's a comfortable, well-lit atmosphere. It's January, so it's still brisk outside, and the warm air inside is refreshing. Taking a seat at a table instead of the already packed bar, Gumshoe and Miles settle in across from Phoenix. The detective leans back, keeping his distance from Miles, but Wright leans in, resting his weight on the tabletop.

The two make light conversation while Miles removes his coat and slings it over the back of his chair. He sits, crossing his arms across his chest and straightening up out of habit. A waitress had delivered menus, and he flipped through his, pretending to be interested in the font on the pages while he let his mind wander. It's only when he notices that his company has stopped talking that he wakes up.

"Miles?" Phoenix says, and it sounds like it isn't the first time he's called if his tone is anything to go by. He grunts in response, and Phoenix sighs. "She asked what you want."

It's only then that he realizes that the waitress is taking their orders. "Tea." He says. "Hot," he adds as she starts to walk away the instant he speaks. She nods, and Edgeworth sighs, his attention now turned to a skeptical attorney and fidgety detective.

"You all good, sir?" Gumshoe asks quietly, to which he receives a curt nod.

"You sure?" Phoenix says again, and gets a glare.

"Why are you up my ass?" He snaps, fists clenching against the table. Wright flinches, but Gumshoe looks nervously between the pair.

"Because we're worried about you, sir." He whispers, and Wright nods his agreement. "Do you know how odd you're acting?"

Edgeworth pauses. The normally oblivious detective is right; he's a master of calm and logic, and now he's lost his calm over Phoenix. "Again," his mind says, and he shakes his head to clear the thought, though the two only give him that pitiful look again, and he regrets it instantly.

"I haven't been getting enough sleep lately," he admits aloud, but their expressions don't change.

"Is it because of…" Phoenix trails off, crinkling his eyebrows.

Edgeworth rolls his eyes. "You can say it, you know. And of course, it's about DL-6."

Again, they give him that look. "You know, if you ever need to talk-"

Phoenix doesn't get to finish because he cuts him off again. "Why does everyone keep asking me if I need to talk?" He growls, drawing attention from the nearby tables. "If I wanted to talk to you, I would. I can handle my problems, thank you." He gets up and walks out, leaving his coat, tea, and Phoenix and Gumshoe even more worried than before.

As Miles walks to the courthouse, he realizes several things. One, that it's cold as hell out. Two, that he really doesn't know how to deal with this. He hasn't slept in a few days due to the nightmares, but that's nothing new. He doesn't understand why he's suddenly questioning the path he's taken, or why he can't process his emotions properly, or at all for that matter. Shivering against the cold, he goes to the parking garage, only to realize that three, his keys are in his coat pocket. Cursing, his legs act of their own accord, kicking the side of the sports car again and again. He kicks until he's sweating and there's a dent in the bumper and the vein in his temple is popping.

Before he could come to his senses, he hears his name in Phoenix's voice, only just louder than a whisper. He turns around, hands shaking, and sees the attorney with his coat in his hands. He feels his face heat up and he straightens his clothing, reaching for his coat. His hands meet only air, however, because Wright steps backwards, pulling the maroon coat flush against his chest.

"I'm guessing your keys are in here," Phoenix's voice wavers, and Edgeworth isn't sure whether or not it's from the cold. Face still red with shame, Edgeworth reaches out again, nodding with shame and keeping an eye trained on the snowy ground. "I'm not letting you go home like this." Phoenix says, and his fists tighten around the expensive cloth. "Not until I'm sure you can handle yourself."

Miles sighs, watching his breath turn to smoke in the ruthless cold of winter. He looks up, knowing that he's masked his emotions for so long, it should come easy. But somehow, the false smile on his face falters, and he's left with a crinkled brow as he inwardly scolds himself. He thinks how pathetic it is, and he chuckles aloud, ignoring the grave look that Phoenix shoots at him.

"Wright," he starts, clearing his throat once he hears his voice crack, "It's cold, and I just want to go home. Please," he tilts his still outstretched arm.

Phoenix looks intently at his palm, lost in thought. After a moment he sighs. "You're an adult. But promise me you'll be safe."

The request catches Edgeworth off guard. He stares at him, confused.

"Promise me you'll drive safe," he says, fingers still kneading the fabric.

Looking down in a grimace, Miles sighs. "Of course, Wright."

With a curt nod, Phoenix hands over the coat. Miles grabs for it, but the brunette lawyer's hand covers his own. He flinches, but Phoenix's hold is steady and firm. "I'm seeing you tomorrow for lunch. There's a coffee shop down-"

He doesn't get to finish; Edgeworth cuts him off, saying, "I'm quite busy tomorrow, I don't think-" A squeeze to his hands makes the words catch in his throat.

"Make the time." His expression hardens, and his words come out forceful, but then his tone turns to desperate. "Please," he says, softer.

Edgeworth knows that he means well, and the swelling feeling that comes over him makes him nod. "Fine," he consents, and finally, to his relief, the hands release him.

A sad smile crosses Phoenix's face. "It hurts," he mumbles, "to see you so distressed. If something were to happen…" he trailed off, shivering. "I'll see you tomorrow," he called, walking into the garage, out of sight.

Pulling up into his own driveway, Edgeworth puts the car in park and kills the engine. He doesn't move for a few moments, just breathes and tries to clear his mind. He asks himself, what was I thinking, and how could I be so stupid? With a sigh, he rests his head on the steering wheel. He's brought more people into this than he'd like to. It had been 15 years, and the last thing he wanted was for Phoenix, or Gumshoe, or anyone else, to bring up the incident with his father. He wanted it all to be a thing of the past, and with the case coming to an official close, he thought that it might finally give him some closure. Instead, it was brought fresh to his subconscious again, and now he couldn't get through the day without someone reminding him of it, giving him worried looks or asking about his wellbeing. He had never let it show, so why was he having trouble now, when it should be so much easier? Anxiously, he rubs his hands on his thighs. Upon wincing at the feeling of fresh scabs being brushed, he rubs harder, trying to forget his whole life in just a few moments of pain. Unfortunately, it's not enough, but then, it never is.

He drags himself out of his car, he walks up the path to his house. The moment he gets through the front door, he's loosening his cravat and shrugging off his layers. He drapes them over the back of a chair in his bedroom, still neatly, but not hung. He thinks about how he's made a life for himself, but now, with thoughts of his father rising back to the surface and this feeling of spiraling out of control, how it seems like everything that he's worked for up to now has been for nothing.

It's pathetic, he tells himself, how such an esteemed lawyer, who's worked for so many clients whose circumstances were so much worse, how effected he is by an event that was early in his childhood. How it's pathetic that he can't help but be haunted by it, despite all his efforts. How it's pathetic that such a hopeless romantic as Wright, after all these years, could still drag the most unusual and uncharacteristic out of him. Wright and Gumshoe both. Though Gumshoe knows how to handle him, which was unsurprising as they had worked together for years, Phoenix's morals held strong, even in the justice system. It makes Edgeworth uncomfortable, how he had managed to make a name for himself while still holding true to who he was and how he felt. It unnerved Edgeworth; made him feel less human than he.

Miles realizes he's been sitting on the edge of his bed in only his boxers. His head is throbbing and his chest aches. He feels conflicted and miserable, more so after thinking of going to bed. While he doesn't fear sleep, reliving his memories not only of his father, but the time afterwards is less than desirable. He tugs up the hem of the fabric to reveal a column of red lines, a few scabs broken from rubbing them. On top of the shame he feels from his father's death still bothering his and the inability to simply get through a normal day, his unhealthy coping mechanism only adds to that. But, breath shaking and tears threatening to fall from his eyes, Edgeworth plucks the razorblade from his nightstand and adds more cuts to the rapidly growing row. He allows himself to forget, just for a moment, the way he can't bear to go on normally or compose himself in court, then it's worth it.

He stops for a moment, as a single thought pushes through the relief spreading through him and halts his momentary high: Phoenix's face as he said, "It hurts to see you so distressed. If something were to happen…" Miles grimaces. The thought of Phoenix finding out about this, or any of what made him like this, was unbearable. He feels something unique for Phoenix. The thought makes him feel sick with guilt. But then, he's used to feeling guilt. If anything, the sudden loss of it that came with the closing of the case is less of a weight off his shoulders and more of an eye opener of how his whole life has been a misconception. He's comfortable with the guilt, he thinks, and hisses as he presses down on his skin hard.

He watches the blood bubble up, then gather in splotches, before tapering off at the ends slowly, leaving the end of the straight, even lines in scratchy, light waves. The tails only bubble up a little, and me moves further up towards his knee with each minute. Before long, his leg is covered in blood, and he sits back in his bed, simply breathing, unable to think clearly through the light throbbing of his leg. He allows himself a moment of calm, a calm that he craves, that once came so easily but now evades him, leaving instead a sickly, irking wrench in his gut.

All too soon, it fades, and his first thought is not of Von Karma or his father, for once; it's of Wright. Edgeworth remembers how Wright seemed to want to help, and right now, he would try anything to not feel this sinking misery and rush of shame. After all, enough is never enough. Grabbing several tissues from his bedside, he wipes down his leg more gently than he normally would, not wanting to be reminded of what he had just done instead of holding on to the distraction that the pain provided. He wraps the blade in the tissues and chucks them in the rubbish by his bed. Immediately, he grabs his phone and dials Phoenix's number.

It only rings once before he picks up. "Edgeworth?" he says, panicked. "Is everything alright?"

He doesn't answer the question, instead asking, "Do you remember when I asked if you became a lawyer because you wanted to help people?"

A pause. "Yes, why?"

Miles sighs, voice close to a sob. "I think I need some help, Wright."

Immediately, Phoenix voices his response. "I'll be right there."


	2. Check My Pulse

Chapter 2 – Check My Pulse

Phoenix Wright has never been to the prosecutor's house, not since they were children. However, he knows where he lives. He pedals into the driveway and immediately rushes to the front patio, dropping his bike by the front lawn. He hammers on the door, questioning whether to toggle the handle. He has known Edgeworth long enough to know that it had to be something serious for him to reach out to anyone, Wright especially because of his pride. Deciding that if he had reached out at this hour of the night, it was urgent enough that Wright might have to go in and act.

Just as he reaches out to the knob, Edgeworth appears in front of him, swinging the door towards him. He looks tired to say the least, was dressed in what Wright had last seen him in, minus the vest and shoes.

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" he says, and Wright lets him lead the way to the kitchen.

Phoenix notices that all the lights are on as he walks into the sparsely decorated but elegant kitchen. Edgeworth sits at the small table there, hot cup of tea in his hands as he slouches across from an empty chair. Phoenix doesn't make a move to sit, instead opting to ask, "What happened that you called me so late?"

Edgeworth shifts uncomfortably at that, adverting his gaze. The defense attorney doesn't miss how he grimaces a bit when he moves. "It's nothing pressing," he says, trying to sound convincing. "I just…" he trails off, daintily gulping tea. "I don't sleep well at night."

Scooting into the chair, Phoenix eyes the other man from across the table. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Miles scoffs, shooting him a glare. "Don't be daft. I didn't call you because I had a bad dream."

"Then why did you call me?"

He doesn't respond, simply sipping his tea again.

Phoenix sighs. "There had to have been a reason. I won't laugh if it is because you had a bad dream."

Edgeworth chances a look into Wright's eyes. "I don't know why I called you." He huffs. "I don't need your pity."

Phoenix changes his approach. "Then tell me what's bothering you, and I'll stop pitying you and give you the help that you clearly need."

Edgeworth's glare sharpens. "I don't need help, I'm perfectly capable-"

"If you didn't need help then I wouldn't be here!" Phoenix barks, hands finding purchase against the table. "Hiding won't fix your problem, now tell me what's wrong, damnit!"

Edgeworth sets his tea down and stands up. "Get out of my house," he commands through gritted teeth.

"Not until I'm sure that you're okay." Wright insists, crossing his arms.

Miles sighs dramatically, rubbing his fingers down his face. He feels weak under the other attorney's careful eye, and doesn't want to tell anyone that something is wrong, himself included. He sits back down, settling for half the truth. "I do have nightmares," he says, folding his limbs on the table. "That's part of why I called you," he adds, knowing that Wright will see right through his lies.

Phoenix nods. "Okay," he starts, relieved that Miles has at least told him something. "Will it help if I stay with you while you sleep?"

"I'm not in any real danger," Edgeworth insists, regretting his whim to call Phoenix over. He had cleaned himself up in a hurry and just settled down when he heard Phoenix knock. He thought that maybe Phoenix could help him since he knew him in a way that nobody else could seem to comprehend, but he hadn't really considered what it would entail. The moment Wright had come through the door, he felt embarrassed along with something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He now realized that it was weakness he felt, feeling broken and weak for needing someone else to put him back together. He feels weak because this time, he can't pick himself up anymore, despite being able to do more than that in the past. He just doesn't know anymore.

"I really don't need immediate attention," Edgeworth whispers, not wanting to say that he needs or even wants Phoenix here. He hopes that Wright will get the message without him having to admit it to himself or the man seated across from him.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to, Miles." He says, tone gentle but not cloying.

Edgeworth smiles bitterly. "I don't need you to watch over me."

Phoenix laughs lightly, and the prosecutor knows that he is an open book. "I'd like to stay. If anything were to happen once I leave, I'd never forgive myself."

"So, I'm just a helpless client now, Wright?" Edgeworth prods, leaning forwards. "You're here to defend me?"

"I never said that!" Wright makes a face, taken aback. Miles simpers, their small talk reminding him of their courtroom banter.

"Well, if you're staying, would you like some tea?" Miles rises, standing tall and stretching his legs. He watches Wright nod as a flush creeps over his face, eyes near slits in faux anger. "I'll take that as a yes," he mutters to himself.

"Slimy prosecutor," Wright teases, and the other man laughs as he scoops leaves into a fresh mug and brings it to the table.

The two of them sit for a while, mostly staying silent, but taking small digs at one another, Wright's attempt to cheer him up and Edgeworth's attempt at normalcy. Phoenix's eyes draw heavy and he blinks rapidly, yawning.

"Do you need to sleep?" Edgeworth asks, now his sensible self, but the thought of sleep puts him on edge.

Phoenix shakes his head. "I'm fine, Maya just drains my energy."

"If you need rest, you can go home." He says nonchalantly.

"Honestly?" Phoenix grins. "I would rather be sure you're okay. The world needs its star prosecutor."

The words remind him of his duties, ones that he'll have to resume in the morning, which is in less than six hours, Miles checks. Self-conflict aside, just trying to get through restless sleeps and busy days is taxing enough. He sighs, anxiety setting in.

"I need a drink," he laughs, pressing his index fingers into his eyes. He feels a hand on his forearm almost immediately.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep," Phoenix offers, then adds, "For my own peace of mind, not because I think you need it."

One thought prevailed above anything else in Edgeworth's mind: "I need sleep." Pride and weakness forgotten, Miles couldn't stand another night without rest. "I'm so tired, Wright." He groans, and practically crawls up the stairs to his bedroom. The other man follows close behind, teacups left behind, forgotten.

Phoenix waits in the lavish bedroom, staring at the clothes Miles was just in that are strewn across the back of a chair in the corner of a room. His legs are crossed as he sits perched on the end of the bed, lost in thought while he waits for the latter to return from the bathroom. He knows that Miles is meticulous, so he isn't worried about him taking literally forever, but he feels wrong snooping around his room. Still worried sick with only clues from DL-6 and Miles' subtle hints to base anything on, he puts aside his morals for his friend's privacy and decides to have a look around.

The first thing that catches his eye is the haphazard way that his keys and case files seem to have been thrown on the desk. His workplace is always exceptionally tidy, which only shows how much stress Miles is under. His eyes move to the bed as he turns, seeing what was a perfectly made bed with the only wrinkles on the side where the nightstand sits, where it looks like Miles may have sprawled out briefly. He walks over and runs a hand along the wrinkles, smoothing them over if only to feel like he's helping.

The nightstand catches his eye. On it is a lamp, which matched the room's décor, a clock, which read 1:37, and a tissue box, which, upon further inspection, seemed to have a speck of blood on the top. Puzzled, Phoenix stepped forwards to reach for it, but his foot caught on a wastebasket. Looking down, he gasped, seeing the bloody tissues. Sighing, he kneels to take a closer look, hoping- no, begging- that he was wrong. Unfortunately, he isn't, and he unravels a small, metal blade. He closes his eyes momentarily before dropping the streaky tissues back in the bin. He sits back on the bed and waits for Edgeworth.

He returns quite soon and gets into bed, ruffling the bedsheets around his shoulders. He sighs, and Phoenix sees his shoulders relax.

"You good now?" he asks, making sure to keep the sadness out of his voice. He was heartbroken, but that wouldn't help Miles right now.

He nods in response, opening his mouth to say "thank you," but closes it immediately. Instead, he looks his way and grants him a small smile. He goes to say, "you can go now," but truly doesn't want him to. He's afraid of Phoenix leaving. He settles somewhere in the middle. "You came."

Phoenix smiles, stifling a sob. "Of course I did." It's the last thing Miles remembers before he passes out.

When Miles Edgeworth wakes up, he's not alone. Wright is slumped in his bedroom chair. His nose crinkles at the attorney lounging on his coat, but he's secretly glad he stayed the night, if not thrilled. He looks at the time: it's a few minutes before his alarm sounds, so he flips it off before it can wake his guest. If anything, he's sorry as he looks at the uncomfortable position Phoenix is in. He's sorry he worried him, sorry he couldn't properly thank him, sorry he disappointed him.

As quietly as he can, Edgeworth slips out of bed, but trips on something. Looking down, he sees his trash, but his glance turns into a squint as he sees a glint of metal. Gray orbs widen as he sees the razor revealed, positive that he had wrapped it up the night before. Glancing at a still sleeping Wright, he realizes the implications, and falls back onto his bed. It creaks at his weight, and he hears a grunt; Phoenix is awake. Eyes shifting between the rubbish and the occupied chair, Edgeworth pales, but says nothing.

Wright's eyes open and they're bloodshot, and Miles feels his stomach churn. He turns those tired eyes to Miles and graces him with a smile, a perfect upturn of lips that he feels he doesn't deserve, but gives him a burst of joy through his spine nonetheless.

"Morning, Miles." He says, voice raspy as he stretches. Edgeworth gives a short nod in return, not trusting his voice, and they both get ready for work.

Miles gives Phoenix a ride to the courthouse since they both need to go there anyway, loading his bike into the trunk of the Mercedes. Phoenix insists that he doesn't need to go home, and the former doesn't argue. "A cheap suit is a cheap suit," he thinks to himself, but doesn't dare say to Phoenix, who, he thinks, can at least keep his head steady on his shoulders.

The prosecutor tries to focus on his cases, but struggles to do so. It frustrates him to no end. He knows that Phoenix can see it in him from across the courtroom, and he only catches him staring once. At the very least, Edgeworth can appreciate his effort. He's reluctant to talk to Phoenix when he approaches the prosecutor after court is adjourned, but shamefully knows that he can't avoid it.

"Wright." He says in greeting. "Do you need something?"

"Just a ride," he smirks in response, tapping the place on his wrist where a watch would lie if he wasn't so broke. "Or have you forgotten our lunch date?"

Edgeworth smiles to himself. "You just can't get enough of me today, can you?" He leads Wright to the car and they escape in a blaze of red.

"So," Phoenix says once they're seated in a little booth in the café. "How are you feeling?"

Edgeworth goes to say "tired" out of habit, but stops. "Actually, quite well rested," he responds.

This earns him a smile. "Good."

A long moment passes in silence. It's a serene quiet, not at all uncomfortable. "Thank you," Edgeworth says, quiet but sincere. "For everything."

The defense's face contorts into a frown. "Even though you slept through the night, I'm still not sure that you'll be alright on my own."

"Me neither." The honest answer slips past his lips before he can stop it.

"Anything I can do to help, Miles." Phoenix nods, knowing that Edgeworth would never ask for himself. The look that he gets in response only confirms this, his mouth forming a surprised "o" before settling into a look of contentment. "That's settled then." Phoenix claps once, happy that Miles is letting him in, even if he had to push his way through a little more than he'd like to. "I'll see you tonight?"

If Miles was anyone else, he would be dumbstruck at his new sleeping arrangements, but he wasn't just anyone and he was sharp, especially when it came to Wright. "Tonight."

The moment that Phoenix leaves the courtroom, he sighs deeply and drops his briefcase. Leaning against the nearest wall, he drops his face into his hands and groans. The day had been rough, between another difficult client, his typical fair share of bad luck, and worrying about Edgeworth, who was still as brutal in the courtroom as ever, he is exhausted. He slumps to the ground and buries his head in crossed arms and closes his eyes, allowing himself to just breathe for a minute. He hears the lobby clear out around him, the tapping of footsteps eluding his ears, and he enjoys the silence.

It's only when he hears slow, steady footfalls coming towards him that he lifts his head. He sees Miles, who looks nervous. Frowning, he stands up and meets him in the middle of the hall.

"Do you need me for something?" Phoenix asks, choosing his words carefully.

Edgeworth takes a breath, holding his upper arm with the opposing hand. "Tonight," he starts, forcing himself to continue. He's stopped trying to hide what he's thinking around Wright since he'll find out anyway, but that doesn't make it any easier for himself. "Can you come around ten?"

Phoenix smiles. "Of course. I'll see you then."

Ten rolls around, and Phoenix bikes to the front of his house. As he leans his bike on the porch, Miles is already holding the door open for him. Phoenix looks him over; he's in comfortable clothes, sweatpants and a long-sleeved, but they still look better than his own attire even though it's basically the same thing, just with a T-shirt and a zip up hoodie. Edgeworth takes Wright's coat, and then they go up to his bedroom.

"Do you need anything?" Edgeworth asks, watching as Phoenix goes to sit on the chair.

"No, I'm alright, thank you though."

Edgeworth frowns. "You know, you don't have to sleep on the chair. There's plenty room next to me." He feels bad already, making Phoenix stay up to watch him.

Surprised that he would let him be that close to him for that long, he nods tentatively, but doesn't turn up his nose at the offer; that chair really did a number on his back. Phoenix moves to the bed, kicking off his shoes and bringing his knees up to his chin. He rests his back against the headboard and watches as Edgeworth shifts onto his back.

His brows knit together, and he frowns at the defense attorney. "What?" he grunts.

"Nothing," Phoenix says, shifting to lay down. "You sure you're okay with me-"

"Wright." Edgeworth glares, smirking. "Shut up."

Phoenix chuckles. "Right. Goodnight, Miles." He settles onto his side and loops his arms under the pillow. Edgeworth flips the light off, and Phoenix keeps his eyes open in the dark until he hears the other's breathing fall into a slow rhythm and he turns gently in his sleep. Smiling, Phoenix closes his eyes.

The two attorneys fall into a routine. It's odd at first, but both become more comfortable after a week. Phoenix comes by at about ten, ten thirty if he notices Miles has several cases. Miles wraps up his work, goes to sleep, and then Phoenix follows suit shortly afterwards. During the first week, Miles doesn't have a single nightmare, and he feels that things are starting to look up. With more sleep, he loses his cool much less often and focuses better. He still feels bad about Phoenix, but whenever he brings it up, he gets dismissed, Phoenix saying, "If it helps you, don't feel bad." One time, he mentions how he does get a ride to work out of it, and Miles chuckles. Wright's bike sees more of Edgeworth's trunk, and Miles sees less of his father and Von Karma in his sleep.

It's the first day of the second week that Phoenix wakes up to Edgeworth thrashing in the middle of the night. He whips the blanket off and rushes around to Edgeworth's side of the bed, throwing on the light. "Miles!" he calls, hand on his shoulder to shake him awake.

He stays asleep, sweat pouring down his face as his whole body shivers. His hands clench the sheets and his knuckles are white. He looks so frightened, even with his eyes closed. Phoenix is almost brought to tears at the sight of his friend suffering so much, the comforting calm that usually graces his features nowhere to be seen.

"Miles! Wake up!" He yelps, louder, and shakes him vehemently. Edgeworth's eyes shoot open and dart around the room. His lips are mouthing the word "dad," so quietly that Phoenix can't hear it but can guess easily by how the tears are threatening to pull from his eyes. "It's okay, Miles. It was just a dream," Phoenix says, squeezing Edgeworth's hand.

His eyes meet Phoenix's and he starts to relax, rapid breaths starting to slow. The shivers stop, but turn to inward sobs. Before Wright can process what's happening, Edgeworth is crying into his shoulder. "He's gone," he sobs, and Wright rubs circles into his back. "He's gone, he's gone and it's my fault!"

"It's not, Miles," Phoenix says, pulling him close. He only sobs harder. "You didn't do it."

"But I didn't stop it!" His voice is muffled against Wright's shirt and warped from crying, but he can still hear the words.

"It's in the past, Miles," Wright whispers, "And you did what you could."

He's met with a wail. "I became everything he worked against!" Wright feels his fists push against his back as he speaks. He decides not to reason with Edgeworth; he is too worked up to be logical. Phoenix takes a breath to calm himself and turns his focus to calming him down.

"Miles. You need to breathe. Don't think about your father." He squeezes Edgeworth's shoulders and pulls him away to meet his eyes. "Focus on me."

Miles nods as he sees that Phoenix is right. His breath hitches, but he forces air into his lungs.

"That's it," Phoenix says, trying to pull him back towards himself, but the prosecutor puts up a hand to stop him and looks down. Phoenix waits patiently until he hears the other man's rhythmic breath slow to a normal rate.

"I'm good." Edgeworth rasps, sitting up in his bed.

Wright nods, sighing. "Is there anything I can get you? Water?"

"I'm an adult, Wright." He snaps, then softly murmurs, "Water would be nice."

Wright smiles, and hurries downstairs. Miles leans back and shuts his eyes tight. As ashamed and embarrassed as he is, he's glad that Wright was there. Left on his own, he probably would have done something rash. He returns a few seconds later with a glass of water. He hands it to Edgeworth, then circles around the bed to sit next to him.

"Thank you," Miles says, drinking deeply and then turning off the light once more. Wright smiles and watches him settle back down under the sheets before pulling up his own blanket.

This is the first time that Miles Edgeworth has been able to go back to sleep after a nightmare.


	3. I Can Be Sweet

Chapter 3 – I Can Be Sweet

Edgeworth stares into the bottom of his tea. He blows, watches the leaves stir in the bottom. The steam floats up his nostrils and burns the back of his throat. It's 9:46, and the tea just isn't doing it for him. He craves release, frustrated with how his efforts seem to get him nowhere and he feels just as miserable now as he had before Wright had started coming. He tries not to question his path, not to cry, and not to think, and all at the same time. It's too much.

Things have started going downhill from the first nightmare. His nightmares have been more frequent the last few nights, and his relationship with Wright is straining due to it. The attorney has begun to nag him, always checking up on the prosecutor, constantly watching him over his shoulder. It makes Edgeworth feel like a mess, and he hates it. It's part of what's brought him to where he is now.

He stands up, clock now 9: 50, ten minutes until Wright arrives. Probably less, with how worried he's been lately. He pours himself a shot, downs it in an instant, and repeats the process a few times. Every inch of his skin is itching to hurt, to just feel some relief without effort, but he really doesn't want to reduce himself to that again. It's been about a week, and Edgeworth is truly proud of that 7-day streak. He downs another shot, his last attempt at not hurting himself and evading feeling for just a moment as the liquid burns hot down his throat.

The door opens, and he hears rustling; Wright has let himself in and is taking off his coat. Edgeworth sits back at the table and gulps his tea. It's still too hot and it stings going down. The clock reads 9:54, and Edgeworth chuckles, reminded of why Wright comes here now and feels the pang of an unreadable but nonetheless painful emotion in his chest. As his guest enters the kitchen, Edgeworth notices how comfortable his walk his. He snarls, head turned down in self-resentment as Wright sits.

Edgeworth sips his tea, some dripping onto his bottom lip. He doesn't care to get it, nor does he notice it. His effort to ignore his thoughts only draws his attention to his racing mind even more. Not only Wright, but his own career choices, his failure as a child, and his failure now, in this moment, to live a normal life and control his emotions, it piles up in his brain. Not to mention that he has now affected Phoenix's life. He looks, eyes glassy, to the attorney before him. The precinct has a sharp eye on him. Gumshoe is oblivious, but not stupid. He noticed that Phoenix was never available at night, poked his nose in the wrong spot, investigated. From his perspective, it looked as if the two were sleeping together. Of course, he had come to Miles about it, and the only thing more awkward than admitting that he was right was telling him the real reason why Phoenix was coming to his house every single night. Now, it is just one more thing bothering the prosecutor, one more person dragged into his mess, one more person to let down when he finally breaks, and his secrets are let out for the second time in two months.

Edgeworth wonders if he can get away with another shot. He presumes not, as Phoenix is giving him an odd look. "Miles?" he asks, and the concern on his face makes Edgeworth sick.

"Shut up," Edgeworth snaps, and stands up.

"What's wrong? Tell me!" Wright stands too, immediately in front of him, arms on his shoulders.

Miles notices how warm his hands are, and immediately regrets it. He thinks of how much this will fuck up their friendship, how the best thing that had happened to him since Christmas might disappear and he would be doomed to spend his nights alone, once more drawn to self-harm as sleep eludes him. But, in that moment, he doesn't care. Miles seldom drinks, so the alcohol has hit him hard; not enough for him to forget like he wants to hurt, but just enough to provide him with an alternative. Logic escapes him, and he grabs the back of Wright's head and crushes their lips together.

Instantaneously, Phoenix gags at the taste of alcohol and his concern triples. What could cause Miles, of all people, to drink, and what else might he have done? However, he can't help the twinge of arousal that pulses up his spine as the prosecutor grabs roughly at his crotch.

"Miles!" he shouts, wiping his lips with the back of his palm. He shoves off Edgeworth, who stumbles but doesn't fall. "Tell me what's wrong." Wright commands.

Edgeworth regains his footing and chuckles. "I can't sleep," he says, lids heavy and smirking. Wright feels his stomach churn at his slurred, seductive tone. "I want you to fuck me, Wright." He steps closer, and Phoenix is too shocked to step back. "Fuck me so hard that I forget everything."

"Miles," Phoenix says, vision blurred and head spinning despite the lack of alcohol in his system. "Why?" Is all he can manage to say in his surprise.

Edgeworth moves towards him again and stops when his face is close enough to Phoenix that he can smell his breath, but that he's not touching him. "I want you to help me forget, Wright."

"This isn't the right way to deal with this, Miles." Phoenix insists, not backing away, but instead using their closeness to stare into Miles' eyes. "I know you want to lose yourself in… whatever this is, but it's not healthy."

"I don't care," Miles replies curtly. "Do you want to help me or not?"

"Yes, but not like this."

"Why not?" Edgeworth presses himself flush against Phoenix, who only now realizes that he's been backed against a wall. He feels a knee between his legs and bites his lip. Miles can feel his erection if his smirk is anything to go by. "Clearly this can't be the reason. You like me, Wright. Help me."

"Miles, you're drunk."

He laughs, and Wright pushes him off.

"When intoxicated, an individual cannot legally consent to sexual activity. You're an attorney, Miles. You know this."

Edgeworth laughs again, this time darkly. "If you're not going to help me, then leave. It's not a crime for me to get drunk alone on a Friday night, just pathetic. Or is there a law about that, too?" He rounds the counter, grabbing the bottle from earlier.

"I'm not leaving, Miles. And you're not going to drown yourself in liquor." Wright snatches the bottle from the other's hands. "You're going to bed. Stop acting like a child."

Wright's words pierce through Edgeworth and he cringes. In an instant, he's soberer than he'd like to be, and he realizes that Wright is – well, right. He's handling his situation wrong and he knows it, but he'd still rather this than the alternative. He knows he's making more problems for himself, but he can't get himself to stop. Sitting down and admitting what's wrong and that he doesn't know how to deal with his racing thoughts, guilt, and night terrors is the last thing that Edgeworth wants to do.

"I don't know how to-" Edgeworth cuts himself off, his hands extended in front of him and grasping at air, as if they need something that they can't seem to reach. "I don't think I can handle this right." Edgeworth drops an arm, leaving one reaching, this time for the bottle still in Wright's hand. "I don't want to be here right now. Please, just give it to me."

Wright's shoulders drop. He sounds so defeated and he looks like he's going to start crying. "Miles, please-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Phoenix." Edgeworth sighs, face contorting. He struggles with his words, and his body doesn't know what to do with itself. He feels out of his element as he speaks: "The last thing I want to do right now is talk about it. I am constantly thinking about it, all of it, and all I want to do is sleep. But I can't. I can't stop thinking about it, and I can't deal with this. I keep digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole and I can't stop making all the wrong choices."

By this point, the tears have slipped loose from his eyes and he's shaking, small tremors running through his limbs and core. Phoenix recognizes that there's panic in his eyes, and he grabs Miles' arms and leads him to sit in the nearest chair. "Breathe, Miles," he tells him, and he gets a nod in response. He slips his hands into Wright's and squeezes lightly. "It's okay, go ahead, let it out," Wright whispers, and instantly feels Edgeworth crush his hands as hard as he can. The two stay like this until Miles' breathing steadies and he releases Phoenix's now white knuckles.

"I'm sorry." Edgeworth mutters, too ashamed to look Phoenix in the eye. He's still shaking, but he's not freaking out anymore.

"Don't apologize. It's healthy to let out your emotio-"

"No," Miles cuts him off, looking up. "I mean I'm sorry for trying to rape you."

"Oh." Is all Wright can say for a moment. He forces himself to speak when he sees the expectant look in Edgeworth's wet, puppy-dog eyes. "I wouldn't call it that, and I'm sorry that you've gotten to a point where you felt that was your only option, but… thank you, and I forgive you." He sees Miles' chest droop as he lets out the breath he was holding. "Miles, you need to talk to someone about whatever it is that's bothering you. This isn't healthy."

"I know," he snaps, but it comes out weak. "But-"

"It's okay," Wright stops him, not wanting to make him upset again, not right now. "Don't worry about it right now." He glances up at the wall clock: it reads 10:19. "Let's get you to bed," he coaxes, helping Miles stand.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to stay if I've made you uncomfortable," Miles retorts, and Phoenix only smiles.

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine," he says, still smiling, and leads Miles to his bedroom.

The clock reads 10:29. Miles and Phoenix are side by side in Miles' bed. Apprehension comes over Edgeworth as he reaches over to turn out the light. Once darkness surrounds them, he turns to his counterpart.

"Are you sure you don't mind sleeping with me?" Miles asks. He still feels horrible about his actions earlier. Wright chuckles, and Miles sees his Freudian slip. He can't help but panic, and stutters, "No, I didn't mean-" before he feels a finger on his lips.

"I know what you meant," Wright says, and Edgeworth can feel him smiling. "And no, I don't mind. Go to sleep, Miles." Feeling him nod, Wright removes his finger and leans back. Within a minute, he hears the prosecutor sigh. "Don't worry, I'll wake you if anything happens." He tries to reassure him.

"It's not that," Edgeworth insists, "It's just… what's the point? I keep making the same mistakes and I don't know why I keep trying." Wright sits up beside him to listen and Miles can feel his cheeks burn. "Nevermind, it's not a big deal, I just need to stop overreacting," he drones on, then stops. He doesn't want to burden Wright and make him worry over nothing. He lays back down, but Miles speaks up again, thinking that he's here to help him anyway. "I keep trying but to no avail. I can't stop myself from overreacting. I know it's stupid, but-" he pauses when he hears Wright sigh and sit up again. "I'm sorry, I'll shut up."

"No, don't." Wright rubs his eyes and gestures for the other to turn the light on. He does, and Phoenix continues. "I want you to talk about how you feel, but right now, you're drunk and anxious. Don't let your mind race. I know you feel like you can't control it, but I promise it will be alright. Calm down, okay?"

Miles stares down at the blanket that's now curled in his fist. "You don't think I'm trying to be calm and clear my mind?" Phoenix sighs and pulls Miles in for a hug. For once, he doesn't stop him and instead curls into the defense attorney. "And I'm not drunk," he whispers, "I just feel so hopeless."

Phoenix feels Miles' weight against him and he sighs, thinking what he can do for the stressed man in his arms. His head perks and he shift to sit up slowly, a tentative idea coming to him. "I might be able to help you clear your mind." Edgeworth picks up his head from Phoenix's chest to give him a confused look. "Maybe relieve some of your stress, too." He adds, looking from the floor to Miles and back, hoping that he'll understand what he's hinting at.

Edgeworth gets it almost immediately, eyebrows raising in surprise. "I don't want you to think I'm using you, and this will positively make things more complicated."

"I mean," Phoenix scratches the back of his neck nervously, contemplating. "I really don't mind, and I offered, so you're not using me. Besides, didn't Gumshoe think this was happening anyway?"

"That doesn't mean we have to prove him right," Edgeworth scoffs.

"You never gave him an answer as to what was really going on, did you?" Phoenix asks, and Miles shakes his head, shame clearly coming over him. "You could get him off your case and give him an answer that doesn't make you divulge more than you're comfortable with. Unless you're ashamed of being seen with me?" Before Miles can answer, Phoenix starts to ramble: "Which I wouldn't be offended by, I just want to know-"

"I don't have a problem being seen with you like that." Edgeworth responds quickly and confidently. He doesn't miss Phoenix's sigh of relief. "But that would mean that you're more involved with me, and it won't be easy on you. You already have to deal with me-"

"I choose to deal with you, Miles. I care about you, and if I can't make you feel better about yourself, I can at least make you feel better." Phoenix's expression doesn't waver as he speaks, making eye contact and keeping a strong hold on Miles' arm, as if he's afraid he'll run away and wants to keep him close for as long as he can. "You're not going to sleep anyway," he chuckles, extending his arms out to Miles'. "I'm not asking for a relationship, but if you want this right now, I can provide it. Consensually," he adds with a wink.

Miles blushes furiously, but beams nonetheless. "I do want this."

Phoenix smiles, and then proceeds to push Miles back against the headboard by the chest. He doesn't protest, interested to see what Phoenix will do. His anxiety persists, but the feeling of impending dread has left the prosecutor, leaving curiosity and anticipation in its place.

With a smirk, Wright whips the covers off and goes to tug at the other's sweatpants when he feels a hand on his, stopping his actions. "Wait," Edgeworth says nervously. "I- You're not going to like what you see."

Eyes widening, he remembers what he saw in the trashcan the first night he had slept over Miles' place and nods. "I won't say anything if it makes you uncomfortable."

Miles's face scrunches up like he doesn't know what how to say what he's thinking. "No, it's not that." He removes his hand from Wright's and looks away at a spot on the wall, avoiding the careful gaze the other is giving him. "I just don't want you telling me how it's bad for me. I know it is."

"Okay." Phoneix agrees. "I promise I won't."

"And don't tell me how disappointed you are in me." He interjects, looking at the attorney who is now between his legs. He notes how cute Wright looks like that, hoodie loose around his shoulders and his hands in between his knees, holding him up.

"I won't." He says with finality. Before Miles can say anything else, Phoenix slips a hand under his sweatpants and palms roughly at his boxers, smirking at the strangled groan that Miles elicits. "Now help me get you out of these." He demands, and Miles tilts his hips up so that Phoenix can shuck off both his pants and boxers in one fluid motion. Phoenix grins wider as Miles' half-hard dick pops up. Instantaneously, he shifts lower onto his knees and takes the whole thing into his mouth.

"F-Fuck!" Edgeworth pants. "P-Phoenix!"

The defense attorney smiles around the cock in his mouth. He pulls back, sucking hard, and glances up at Edgeworth's face. His eyes are shut and his brows are knit together in pleasure, mouth open but silent. Satisfied and thoroughly aroused, he bobs his head expertly. As he treasures the little mewls that Miles is making, he feels a hand grip his hair by the roots and groans. His jaw slacks for a moment and Miles pushes his head down hard. Phoneix gags as the head hits the back of his throat and his own erection strains against his sweatpants.

Concerned, Miles removes his hand abruptly and the head between his legs pops up. Before he can ask Wright if he's hurt him, he sees the look on his face; Phoenix's eyes are half-lidded and there's a trail of saliva running down his chin. A slight blush is on his cheeks and the thought that he looks like a slut crosses Miles' mind and he can't help but be turned on by it. "You okay?" he asks, and Phoenix nods before feeling a hand on his crotch and gasping. "Come here," he moans breathily as he pulls Phoenix in to kiss him, tasting himself on the other's lips.

Deepening the kiss, Wright twists so that his legs are interwoven with Edgeworth's and shoves himself up. In doing so, he pushes his hands flat against Miles' thighs and he yelps in response, flinching away and breaking their kiss. Phoenix immediately realizes his mistake and removes his hands, but it's too late. Edgeworth is looking away and his chest is rising and falling heavily, hands crossed over his battered right thigh.

Before Miles can have a full-on panic attack, Phoenix quickly places his hands over the taller man's. "Miles," he says sternly. "Breathe." The other bashfully meets his eyes and Phoenix can see his breath hitch as he genuinely attempts to steady himself. "Good." he whispers and presses a kiss to Miles' forehead.

"I'm sorry," Edgeworth chokes out, voice hardly above a murmur.

"Don't be," Wright smiles, but the light is still absent from Edgeworth's wavering gaze. Sighing, he slides both their joined hands to Miles' hips and leans back down.

Feeling Wright shift and the cold air licking his wounds, Miles closes his eyes tightly and turns his head away, uncertainty returning like a crashing wave, but he's caught off-guard when he feels warm lips pressed to the gashes. Snapping his eyes down, he sees Phoenix kissing his thigh, eyes closed. Something inside him gives way, and Miles feels tears rolling down his cheeks before he can process what emotions he's feeling.

"Stop that," Miles demands, pulling his face up to kiss him chastely. When he pulls away, he's met with Wright's surprised expression and searching gaze. "Thank you," he whispers, and Wright smiles, reassured.

"Would you like me to fini-"

"Yes please." Edgeworth replies before the defense attorney can even get the sentence out, practically forcing his head back between his legs.

Phoenix happily obliges, and Miles' cock disappears into his mouth with a lewd pop. Immediately, Phoenix starts up a quick pace and sucks hard. He feels Miles' legs clench around him and his breathless gasps fill his ears. Wright draws him deep into his throat and holds him there, listening to the hitch in Miles' breath as his own cock twitched painfully and his lungs beg for air. He pulls back, lungs refilling, and licks the underside of Edgeworth's member, lips brushing the tip.

"Ph-Phoenix, stop, I can't-" Wright's eyes dart up as his tongue circles the heads and he watches his words become even more mangled. "I-I'm, ah, f-fuck!" Miles shouts, and Phoenix feels his whole body tense as Edgeworth comes hard.

Phoenix shudders, swallowing everything Miles has to offer and watching as he bites his lip and rides out his orgasm. When the other goes slack and his shoulders hunch over, Phoenix pulls his head back, licks his lips, and wraps his arms around Miles' torso. He presses himself into Miles for a moment longer, ignoring his still throbbing cock, allowing himself to be close to the other man before he comes to his senses and pushes Phoenix away. To his surprise, however, he feels an arm across his back, not to push his away but to embrace him, and he smiles and cuddles further into the other's stomach.

Miles sighs. "Fuck," he breathes, and Phoenix chuckles. "You've practiced that too much, haven't you?" his tone is teasing, but he sounds genuinely impressed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Wright laughs. He pushes himself up to look at Miles, who is still flushed. "You tired now?" he asks gently.

Edgeworth nods, blushing furiously, back to his awkward self. Phoenix smiles and kisses his tenderly, and Miles melts into the small touch. It's endearing to see him acting so happy and human with his guard let down, even if it's only for a little while. Phoenix knows it will return to normal once morning comes, but he can't bring himself to care, not with how content he looks right now.

"Let's get you to bed." Phoenix whispers, forcing himself away from Edgeworth's beautiful body. He kneels, and the prosecutor makes an upset face. "What's wrong?" he demands, immediately concerned.

His eyes flutter down to the other's crotch and he meets Wright's eyes shyly. "Are you okay like that? I mean, do you need to finish?" his voice is soft and his request is selfless.

Phoenix hasn't forgotten his erection, but it's not an immediate concern. Wright knows how Miles thinks. He doesn't want to make Miles do anything he'll regret or he's not comfortable with, just because he feels that he owes Phoenix or wants to repay him. He doesn't think his heart can handle that. Besides, he isn't here for his own pleasure; he's here for Miles.

"Don't worry about me." Phoenix smiles, ignoring how his dick twitches and his stomach tightens when Miles pouts a little.

The two lay together, slightly touching. Miles turns the lights out and places a kiss on Phoenix's cheek. "Thank you," he whispers, voice filled with emotion and heavy with sleep. Phoenix's heart swells and his cheek tingles where Miles' lips touched.

Miles is soundly asleep within minutes. It's the calmest Phoenix has seen him in a while, and he's grateful for it, even though he doesn't sleep a wink. He can't stop thinking about how amazing Miles looked with his face flushed in the throes of passion, or how he wants to see more of him like that.


	4. Impulse

Chapter 4 - Impulse

The day after, court seems to go on forever. Phoenix has never been more grateful for the moment the judge pronounces his client "not guilty." He bolts immediately after congratulating his client, leaving Maya to deal with the aftermath. The bike ride to Wright & Co. Law Offices goes by in a blur; he hardly even registers the cold weather. He locks the door to his office behind him as he steps inside. Immediately, he throws his coat and jacket off and plops into his office chair. His dick is in his hands before he can even think about it.

He can't stop thinking about how Miles gripped his hair and pulled for all he was worth, or how deep and guttural his voice was when he moaned. He throws his head back, imagining his first name coming from those lips once more, coaxing him to the edge. He tugs hard on his own member, thinking about how uncharacteristically rough his voice sounded when he swore, and just how fucking _hot_ it was.

Hand continuing to work, he thinks on it more. Miles hadn't specifically said he didn't want a relationship, which was good. But it hadn't been just a blowjob. Phoenix remembers vividly what Mile's lips had felt like, how his breath mingled hotly with his own and how he tasted as he lapped at their combined fluids. Phoenix stifles a moan, practically shoving his fist in his mouth and biting down to keep quiet.

On top of all that, he had basically offered to return the favor. God, Phoenix had wanted to take him up on that. He pictures it: Edgeworth's lips tight around his cock, eyes shyly looking up at him, begging for approval. He pants hard, imagining Miles pulling it out of his mouth with a pop and giving him a good lick from base to tip, then asking with that nervous, quiet tone of his; "Is this good, Phoenix?" Before he can stop himself, he lets out a cry and comes over the white hem of his button down. He huffs, half in exhaustion and half in annoyance, though he's glad he has his blue suit jacket to cover what will probably be a stain on his shirt.

Shoulders slouching in his office chair, he sighs. No matter what happens, he is perpetually glad that he got to have last night with Miles. He wipes his hands off on his already ruined shirt. The possibility of something happening again, he realizes, isn't too low. Miles had thanked him, but he seemed more than just grateful. He rubs a finger over the spot on his cheek that Edgeworth had kissed before bed, smiling. Given the chance, he would love to pursue a relationship with that man. To call the beautiful and elegant Miles Edgeworth his own would be a pleasure, and the greatest opportunity he could ever hope for.

To his chagrin, his mind brings him back to how he had accidentally hurt him last night. He knows that Miles isn't in a good place right now, and while he doesn't know the full extent of it, he can confidently say that he knows most of it. Phoenix also knows that being in a relationship with Miles wouldn't be easy, that he would have to do a lot more of what he is doing now to ensure Miles' safety and happiness. All this in mind, Phoenix thinks that he would take Miles Edgeworth regardless of all that.

Phoenix glances at his watch and groans. It's almost 7:00. He should be heading home soon, and he needs to go back to the courthouse to get some files from Maya, who he knows stayed with their client. He needs to fill out his paperwork, and he needs to be at Miles' soon after that.

He knows it's not fair to expect anything more from Miles tonight, or ever. He knows that there is a chance that Miles will completely disregard it and act like nothing ever happened between the two of them. He imagines Edgeworth panicking over having sex with him and grimaces at the thought of being the cause of his anxiety. He also knows that the chance of Miles being in complete denial is slim, especially with how close the two of them are, as professionals and as friends. He chuckles, thinking how the two of them have grown closer in the last two weeks. Sure, it's added a new level to them that's been rough to deal with and required some adjusting to, but Phoenix really doesn't mind the inconvenience, not since it's clearly helping Miles. He knows without a doubt that no matter what happens, their friendship might strain from these new aspects of their relationship, but neither of them can afford to lose the other. They are too ingrained in each other's lives, and Phoenix sees now that he loves Miles too much to let him walk away. He stands up, shaking his head lightly with the same smile still stuck on his face, and bikes back to the courthouse in the snow.

Alone in his office with only the sound of his steady breath to keep him company, Edgeworth scowls down at his thigh. He traces the red lines on his leg, the ends of the scabs curling up around the edges where the blade had tapered off. He thinks back to just a few days ago, how suffocated he had felt. Today had been a good day for Edgeworth. It hadn't been so hard to get through the simple things. Miles knows he has Phoenix to thank for that. However, he can't help but feel pride blossoming in his chest. It is him, Miles Edgeworth, and only him who has refrained from injuring himself. He smiles, rubbing a thumb along another scab.

At the same time, though, he's ashamed. His fingernails grip the edge of the crusted skin. Lost in his thoughts, he peels it back, the wound reopened. While he has made an effort, he hasn't done his best. He could be trying harder, could be doing better, but can't seem to give himself that extra push. He tears the scab free, a slight sting tugging at the crease of what now looks like a fresh cut. He grimaces, fists clenched with the base of his right hand pressed down hard into the exposed flesh.

Miles Edgeworth, esteemed Prosecutor. He sighs, thinking over the word: Prosecutor. Is he satisfied with this? What has he become? How has he allowed himself to take this path? He asks himself this, questions it all in his head. The only conclusion he can come to is so simple, yet so complicated. "I don't know," he sighs aloud, hands coming up to his face. Instead of overwhelmed, he feels numb. It makes him crave the solid feeling of instability, and he can feel himself flush with shame.

There is one thing, however, that stops him from reaching into the back of his desk drawer. He thinks of Phoenix. "It hurts to see you so distressed. If something were to happen…" He remembers Phoenix's words, clearer than he wants them to be, reverberating in perfect verbatim through his head. It stops him in his tracks, and he freezes, not trusting himself to move.

He bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes his palms into his eyes until the tears that he knows he's crying cannot possibly come out. Against what he has knowingly conditioned himself to do in times of stress, against his own clawing impulse, he does not cut himself. Instead, he shucks his pants up, relishing the sting of the cloth chafing his thigh. He picks up his pen and finishes his paperwork.

He finds the stairs calming. Yes, the alternative is less than desirable, as Edgeworth would rather shoot himself than take an elevator, but still. It's about 7:30, and Edgeworth is done for the day. He starts down the stairwell, pace slow but steady, and his lips pull into a small smile. He clutches the documents in his hand to his chest, paperwork for the next day, and he breathes deeply, enjoying the sense of calm he feels. He delights in it while he can, knowing it doesn't always come this easy. His pants slide smoothly against his legs as he walks, stinging only a tiny bit. Edgeworth ignores it.

He stops short at the second to last step. Wright is standing across from him, leaning against the wall, coat thrown hap-hazardously over his shoulder. He looks up as Edgeworth comes into view. "Hi," Phoenix smiles.

"Wright," Edgeworth replies, still with the same expression as before. Anyone else might call it a grimace or a frown, but Phoenix recognizes it as his neutral face. Not particularly happy, but content. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to go back to the courthouse to grab some papers, and I figured you'd still be here."

Miles allows himself a chuckle. "Can't get me off your mind?"

"Well, no," Phoenix admits, smiling nervously and giving the back of his neck a good scratch. "Also, it's only five minutes away and I wanted to make sure you still wanted to see me at your place later."

"Why wouldn't I?" Miles seems completely serious upon asking this. Phoenix would say oblivious, but he knows him better than that.

"Come on, Miles. I just wanted to respect your privacy if you wanted it."

Miles pauses at this. "I appreciate it." He takes a step closer.

Phoenix breathes in his scent and sighs. The gray-haired man in front of him notices, observant as ever, and steps closer. "You really couldn't get me off your mind today, could you?" Phoenix flushes but maintains eye contact as he continues calling him out. "I could've sworn I caught you staring at me in court today, but figured I was imagining things."

"You weren't," Wright blurts. He feels incredibly selfish afterwards but disregards it. Edgeworth knows him too well for him to keep secrets from him.

Miles laughs. It's soft and brief, but Phoenix doesn't miss it. "Good." Miles looks down for a moment, then glances over his shoulder. "I hope you know how much you've done for me as of lately," he says, just above a whisper. Phoenix can tell he's a bit nervous, but he has his usual cool demeanor about him, for which Wright is overjoyed. It makes talking to him seem a little safer, like Edgeworth won't break down on him, even if the words he's saying aren't as normal as his tone. As if he can tell what Wright is thinking, he adds, "I know I don't talk about myself, and I'm grateful that you've persevered for me. I owe you my thanks."

Wright simply stares for a moment. He is shocked, but also very proud that Miles has brought himself to say it for himself. After a minute of cherishing the look in Edgeworth's eyes, he smiles. "You don't need to thank me. I care about you, so that's what I'm here for."

Miles simpers, and the emotions in his eyes is overwhelming. "You're the only person who's told me that in fifteen years." Phoenix's mouth drops, and Miles shakes his head, grinning. "Don't, Wright. It's fine. But I know what, and that's what I like about our relationship."

"What is?" he asks. "That I care?"

"That too, but no." Miles steps closer, legs moving of their own volition. "We have an unspoken language. You know me well enough to know what I feel when I can't find the words to say it, and I know you well enough to know what you mean when you clearly don't have the vocabulary for it."

Phoenix can hardly breathe they're so close, yet he's panting. "Are you calling me stupid?" he mutters.

"Yes, Wright. You're completely stupid." He's already thought of the consequences, he just doesn't care. On impulse, Miles leans in and kisses Phoenix. He's gentle, reaching a hand to hold Phoenix's head and guide him deeper. He breaks them apart for a moment, just to allow Phoenix a gasp for air, before going right back in, pressure firm but movements slow. Phoenix's jaw drops, but Miles doesn't attack, rather slides their lips further into place, locking them together.

Phoenix grunts, dropping his coat so he can return the prosecutor's headlock. He grabs Miles' folder and lets it fall to the ground before shoving him against the adjacent wall. Miles groans and moves his hands to dig his nails into Phoenix's hips. In return, Phoenix nips at Miles' bottom lip. Miles flat out moans, and Phoenix uses the opportunity to run his tongue along every crevasse he can find, and Miles mewls quietly until he pulls away and practically shoves the defense attorney off him.

Phoenix watches nervously and Miles leans back against the wall, breathing heavily and leaning over with his hands on his knees. "Miles? You good?" he asks, concerned that the other man is hurt or panicking or overwhelmed, but that fear vanishes when Miles pops his head up to look at him, cheeks red and his lips forming the most adorable smile.

Edgeworth's mind is rational. In this moment, it's asking what the hell he thinks he's doing, and what the fuck does it mean? This time, however, Miles has all the answers. He is going to let Phoenix Wright do whatever ungodly things he wants to do to him, and for once in his life, not question what it means and just enjoy it.

"Yes," he responds. "I'm good." He gathers his papers off the floor and grabs Phoenix's coat before the other man can swoop down to get it. Holding both objects in one arm, he asks, "Do you want to come over before ten?"

Phoenix nods instantaneously. "I'd love to," he says, and slips his hand into the prosecutor's beside him. The two of them walk out into the blizzard, both barely even noticing the cold. Neither of them knows what this is, but they relish it, savoring each and every moment.


	5. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - About To Do Something Foolish

Edgeworth holds the knife in his palm against his wrist vertically.

This is not the first time he has done this. He traces the scar from when he was young and still being parented by Von Karma. That, he tells himself, was due cause. That was a valid reason to want to kill himself. Being under that amount of pressure and mental abuse from a young age, after his actual father who had loved him dearly was ripped from his arms and he was left with the belief that he had done it, that was reason enough to want it to end. This was not.

At the time, he had thought it was stupid. "I can deal with this," he remembers telling himself. "It would be stupid to kill myself over something so trivial." He remembers this vividly, if only because he is telling himself the same thing now. In hindsight, he knows he was wrong. Now, however, he believes himself to be correct. At one point, there was a voice of reason in the back of his mind. It would tell him what he knew to be true. "You don't really believe that," it would say, "You know you'll be okay in the end. You'll learn to deal with it, you'll grow up and mature and have more control over it."

Now, as a full-grown adult of 24, he has lost this voice of reason. Instead of maturing, he feels like he has receded into a state far backwards then that of when he was 10. In this moment, it is easy to disregard all his accomplishments, even the ones that he held closest to him day after day, the ones that prevented him from killing himself until now. They are nothing, Miles thinks, and he is not good enough.

He knows he can do better, and that's what hurts. It would be different if he were doing his best and still couldn't do it. At least he would be doing his best and he could feel the sense of pride that came with giving something your all. But now, he is in the fetal position on his cold, bathroom tiles at 1:26 am, alone because Phoenix is sick and puking with the flu, and he cannot for the life of him figure out what is stopping him from doing what he knows he is capable of doing. He knows he can do better, but he can't seem to get himself to do it. He thinks what Phoenix would say; that this is not his fault, that he's been through a lot and has a right to his emotions, that it's hard to keep the motivation up day by day, and that he's made it this far, that he is trying, and that's something. He knows that Phoenix would be right in all of this. However, he does not believe it for himself, so that information is worthless to him at this very moment, the moment that determines if he ends his own life.

Edgeworth knows he won't die. He knows that the second his vision starts to get fuzzy, he'll panic, just like he did the first time, and call Phoenix just like he had called Franziska when he had tried this 12 years ago. He's pathetic, he tells himself. He is freaking out over practically nothing, a case that he can't morally justify prosecuting and he doesn't want to do the paperwork. It's easy, he tells himself: fill it out like you've done time and time before. But he can't seem to get the motivation to do it and hates himself for it. He'll hate himself whether he does it or not, he knows, because if he does it, it will be 4 am and he will get two hours of restless sleep and have wasted time and the next day will be hell. If not, well, here he is.

It gets to him; the little things add up until it's all too much and he can't deal with it anymore because he didn't deal with it properly in the first place. But, the thing is, Edgeworth can't deal with it properly to begin with. If he acknowledges the problem and talks about it, it doesn't help like everyone says it will. It just gets him worked up, and he feels worse for being overly emotional about nothing, and then he cuts himself to get rid of the horrible pent up feeling. However, this doesn't really help, instead it always escalates and leads to him punishing himself daily for being so pathetic. He sniffles and presses the knife down just hard enough to poke him, but not pierce the skin. Not enough for the sweet relief that he craves.

He'd stopped cutting on his wrists at a young age, 13 to be exact. Edgeworth had switched to his thighs because it was easier to conceal. This was also the first of his attempts to justify his self-deprecating actions to himself. Others included drinking and burning himself, the former of which he found only fueled his episodes of self-harm, the only difference being when he was drunk, the lines were sloppier and there were always more of them since the alcohol numbed him to the feeling. As for the latter, he despised the loss of control over the injury, never knowing how hot his utensil was. He felt pathetic for trying to justify reducing himself to something seen as what angsty teenage girls do for attention, but at the same time, pathetic for hesitating and pulling away from the heat. At least with cutting he wasn't afraid to go deeper. All this in his mind, he tries not to think and pull through, curled up on the ground and shaking, Phoenix's name on his lips and his promise fresh in his mind. Miles still can't shake what Phoenix had said that first day he came to him for help; "If something were to happen…" Miles continues to cry and shiver.

The worst is over now. The urge has passed, but he still feels miserable. Miles trembles, hugging his legs against his chest. He's still disappointed in himself but acknowledges how counter-productive it would be to kill himself; it would only mean he failed ultimately and didn't ever get his shit together. Regardless, he still wants to cut. Not because he's anxious, but because he feels so empty and drained. He can't cry anymore, despite how wet his tears still are on his cheeks. He can remember what made him so upset, but he is so incredibly neutral to the thought that he wants to feel something, anything, so long as it's enough to forget whatever this horrible emotion is.

It's indescribable, he feels so numb but also so hurt and heavy. It's a confused mixture and it's the only thing he hates more than the hysterical panic that precedes it. As much as he wants to hurt himself, he knows he doesn't really want to. He questions whether he secretly wants to be this way with how much he wants to hurt himself. With how foreign it feels to be happy and how oddly comforting the feeling of utter misery and depression is, he often believes that he wants to be like this forever. But, with the amount of evidence that he really does try to keep it together and make progress, he knows it's not true. With this truth in mind, he goes to dial Phoenix, but hesitates. He doesn't want to guilt him, make him feel bad for the first night he hasn't been there for him in a month. Plus, he told him he would be okay without him. So instead, he calls Gumshoe.

"Hello, sir?" Gumshoe sounds half awake and confused, but still somehow perky as ever.

Edgeworth smiles grimly at this, a coarse laugh escaping him. "Hello, Detective. I am sorry if I woke you."

"Nah, don't worry about it, sir! What do you need?"

Edgeworth sighs, the familiar upbeat tone calming him slightly. "Phoenix is sick." He begins, but he can't get himself to ask Gumshoe to come over.

"Oh no! Is Mr. Wright alright?"

Edgeworth can't help but laugh, even though it comes out dry. "He is fine. Not well, but he'll be fine with some rest and time off."

Gumshoe sighs in relief. "Ah, that's good. So, if Phoenix is ok, then what's wrong, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Miles grimaces, grinding his elbows into his thighs. "It's me," he says softly, almost hoping Gumshoe won't hear him. He's suddenly overcome with shame and guilt, even though he hasn't done anything. "I'm not very good at this, but…" he trails off, trying to steady his breathing. "I'm not in a good place right now."

"Where are you, sir?" Gumshoe asks fervently, "I'll pick you up right now!"

"No," Edgeworth squirms, unable to help the anxiety that's creeping back into his arms, making him twitch. "I mean, I'm not in a good place mentally." He cringes immediately at how he's worded it; too pathetic, too evasive, what are you, a child?

If he were Phoenix, he would ask, "Do you need me to come over?" Miles prepares for it, but when he's met with, "I'll be there as soon as I can," and the click of the detective hanging up, he's relieved. Gumshoe's spared him from elaborating, and for that, he's grateful. He slouches into the cushions of his couch, waiting for the door to chime and praying he can hold out for fifteen more minutes.

Gumshoe knocks twice. He doesn't have to wait long before he's met with a fidgety Edgeworth. He's in casual clothes, dark under-eye circles exposed, hair loose by the sides of his face but not messy, never messy. Gumshoe looks like he always does, ratty coat, and Miles isn't surprised in the least.

"Sir?" Gumshoe asks, voice soft but not patronizing or pitying. Miles dips his head and motions for him to enter. He plops back onto the couch, already feeling degraded enough at Dick seeing him in this state. Gumshoe keeps his coat on, but not his shoes, and kneels on the floor in front of the prosecutor. "Miles." He says, voice steady. He's calm in his demeanor, and Edgeworth finds it oddly settling; Phoenix would be visibly upset, worried, even fussy over him. Gumshoe just seems caring, nothing more and nothing less.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," he murmurs, "it was stupid to call you. Nothing's wrong, I just can't shake these feelings."

Gumshoe sits next to him, but not too close. He isn't acting any different than normally, the only change being the volume of his voice, and it's comforting. Nice, even. "Feelings?" he asks.

Miles nods, then shakes his head vigorously. "It's nothing," he huffs, regretting bringing it up. His skin itches.

"It's not nothing, but if you don't want to talk about it, that's ok." Gumshoe says. When Miles doesn't answer, he says, "We should do something." He grabs the remote from the coffee table, turning on the television: a large flat screen, free of dust but hardly used. Animated mecha figures pop up in full color.

Miles instantly recognizes it as Steel Samurai. He feels himself flush, instinctually embarrassed. He doesn't care what anyone thinks, Gumshoe least of all, his loyal assistant holding him in the highest regard. However, Miles loves Steel Samurai. He also hates it; hates that he likes a "kid's show," that the cartoon channel is the only thing he watches other than the news, that he's still just a child, unable to function, living in the past.

If Gumshoe can tell what he's thinking, he doesn't show it. He does scoot closer to Miles though, looking at the screen and not the prosecutor who can't control his breathing beside him. "I love cartoons," he says, smiling to himself. "I never watched them much as a kid, since I didn't always have cable. But when I did, I would watch cartoons all day. I would get yelled at for waking up so early every Saturday because the TV would wake up everyone else. I could never tell what was too loud." Dick chuckles.

Miles is staring at him, listening. His heart is still pounding in his ears, but hearing Gumshoe talk about nothing and the familiar season one finale audio in the background, Miles doesn't notice his breathing start to regulate or his fists unclench. His shoulder droop and he sinks further into the couch, body relaxing, and his skin stops burning under his clothes. After a while, the two of them are calmly watching Steel Samurai season two reruns, both occasionally commenting on the plot or the costumes or the effects. Once, a fleeting thought crosses Miles' mind, and he feels ashamed and wants to blurt that he had come close to trying to kill himself less than an hour ago, but he realizes with a quick glance across the room that it's 3 am, and it's been almost two hours, and a good two hours at that. He looks across to Gumshoe, who is intensely watching the show, and smiles to himself, the disgust disappearing.

As if he can sense he's being watched, Gumshoe turns and smiles back, face bright and innocent as it always is, and Miles is glad he called. "I'm glad you're here," he whispers, and Dick just smiles wider, goofy grin seemingly contagious as Miles can feel his own cheeks rise in response.

"Are you cold, sir?" Gumshoe asks, and Miles notices that he's shivering a bit, but not from anxiety, because his nerves are still and his mind is clear. Before he can answer, Gumshoe has draped his coat across Miles' lap, and Miles suddenly sees why he always wears it. It's worn and tattered, but the material is soft. He pulls the fabric up to his chin, completely covered by it's length as Gumshoe tucks it around his back and legs. "There," he says, satisfied, and leans into the taller man's lean shoulder.

Edgeworth is surprised that he doesn't mind the contact; Dick isn't a huge weight on his small frame, and he doesn't feel smothered. "Thank you," he whispers, stifling a yawn and melting into the detective's side as well.

"Anything for you, Miles Edgeworth, sir," he whispers, voice husky and deep but still soft and quiet, so quiet that Miles doesn't wake up, snoring peacefully against Gumshoe's arm.


	6. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – I'm Not What You Want

When Miles wakes up, he takes a moment to realize why is he is asleep on his couch. After a moment, he remembers. He looks around the house, walking through his kitchen and going to the window of his front door. Looking outside, he doesn't see Gumshoe's car, and there's not a single sign that he had been here. Scratch that; there's a note taped to his door. Miles cringes at the long piece of tape that's been stuck to the mahogany and peels the dangling sheet of yellow notepad paper off gingerly. He smiles upon reading it: "You don't have any cases today and I've cleared your schedule, go see Phoenix, he asked about you." He immediately gets dressed in his usual work attire and gets in his car. He'll see how Wright is doing, but he'll be damned if he doesn't go to the prosecutor's office afterwards.

Phoenix hears a knock on the door of the Wright and Co. Law Offices. "It's open," he shouts nasally from his place on the couch. He's not surprised when Miles walks in. "Gumshoe said you'd stop by."

Miles glances down at Phoenix. He's curled up under a few blankets, and there's a lined trash-bin next to him, as well as a half full tissue box. He wrinkles his nose as Phoenix coughs. "Of course, he did. Are you feeling any better?"

He grimaces as Phoenix only answers with a fit of coughing. When he's finished, he smiles up at Miles despite himself. "Now that you're here, hell yes."

Edgeworth smiles at the sight of Phoenix beaming up at him. Nothing reassures him that this relationship was a good idea more than Wright's happiness at the mere presence of him. That doesn't mean that Edgeworth thinks he deserves a boyfriend as good as Phoenix Wright, but Wright's positive attitude never fails to boost his mood, even if it's just a little bit.

"So," Phoenix continues, scooting over and patting a spot on the couch next to him so Miles can sit. "What's this Gumshoe says about you taking the day off?"

"That," Edgeworth raises his voice and waggles a finger by his temple, "was a lie. I haven't taken a day off in years."

"Well, things change. No time like the present, huh?"

Edgeworth chuckles. "I haven't changed much since…" he trails off, thinking how he hasn't changed at all in the last fifteen years. Ever since adopting the Von Karma name in everything but the name itself, he thinks how he's still living the same life, effected by the same problems, and tormenting himself the same way, always saying he's trying but never doing any better for more than a week. "Well," he chuckles, shaking his head. He is trying, and Phoenix is proof of that. Phoenix makes him happy, and that's something. "You know." He finished lamely at the expectant look Wright is giving him, but his thoughts always need to have the last word: until you fuck that up, they say.

"You ok?" Phoenix asks, looking concerned. "Did I say something?"

"No," Edgeworth forces a smile, not wanting to explain and thus think about it more. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm gonna worry no matter what you say." Wright chuckles, bringing himself closer to Edgeworth but pulling back at the last minute, remembering his illness. "Seriously though, don't hold it in. I don't want to push you but look how much better you're doing since you've reached out."

Miles snorts. "Better?" he mutters, staring down at his arms. He knows that beneath his sleeves, his scars have faded, but it doesn't matter. He still feels the same looking at his bare forearms. It's been a long time since they were gashes that would never stay healed, but he still knows they are there, and they haunt him, no matter how much better he is doing. "Not good enough."

"You know you can't be so hard on yourself, Miles. Nobody's perfect."

"I'm not asking for perfection." The prosecutor sighs, the familiar anxious feeling crawling up his arms. It dwells there despite the lack of reason for it, and he hates himself for not being able to be happy, regardless of all the wonderful things lining up in his life. "I'm just asking to be happy. I want to be happy, and I'm not ungrateful, it's just…" he gestures vaguely at the air, then stops short. He doesn't want to further the moment, opting instead to try not to escalate it further.

"Just what?" Phoenix pursues, genuinely wanting to understand so he can help.

"Just… I don't know. Don't worry about it, I'll be fine."

"Miles." Phoenix sits up, pushing the blanket off himself to hold Miles' hands in his own. "I know you think that pushing it all down will help, but it won't. Tell me what's wrong and I can help you. I promise, I won't hate you or leave you."

Miles looks into Phoenix's eyes but finds that he can't for more than a few seconds. He doesn't want to admit that nothing in particular is really wrong. He has a wonderful boyfriend, and good people who support him and will help him in spite of everything that he thinks about himself. The truth is, nothing was even bothering him this morning. He can't help but think himself into this pit, and then convince himself he's pathetic for even feeling depressed and anxious because, as he tells himself time and time again, nothing is wrong.

"You should," Miles mumbles, looking away and trying not to cry.

"I should what?" Phoenix asks gently, rubbing his thumbs along the backs of Miles' hands.

"You should hate me," Miles sobs softly, beginning to ramble. "Because I'm pathetic. I'm upset, and nothing is even wrong, and no matter what I do I can't make it stop!"

"Miles, look at me," Phoenix coos, trying to calm the other down, but he only continues in more of a frenzy once he meets his gaze.

"You should leave me because you deserve so much better and I'll never be happy with you no matter how hard I try and no matter what you do to accommodate me!"

"Miles." This time, Wright catches the other's attention with the firm tone in his voice. "Listen to me. I will never leave you. I love you, no matter what. We're a team."

Miles sobs at the sincerity in his voice and the determination is his eyes. A part of him knows he's right; that he does try, and he's improved so much and that with Phoenix there to help and support him, he can, and he will get better. But another, overbearing and so hard to ignore part of his looks at where he is now, in spite of all that progress and says that he is not worth wasting such a good, earnest, selfless, patient man's time over a confused and damaged prosecutor who will never amount to anything.

"I'm not what you want. You deserve better."

"Miles, you're exactly what I want. And I need you. You keep me sane, and I'll do anything that I can to make you happy." Miles tries to pull his hands away, thinking himself undeserving of such kind words, but Phoenix pulls him right back. "You need to hear this, Miles. You can't be this hard on yourself. I know you can stop, and I know it won't be easy, but you can do it. I know you can. I'll be here."

"You shouldn't," Miles is sobbing at this point; he can't stop himself. "You won't be happy with me." He mumbles the same things over and over, saying that Phoenix doesn't deserve him, that he's pathetic. It breaks Wright's heart to see someone so strong who's come so far disregard all their accomplishments and be so unhappy. It only makes it worse that he's helpless and can't do anything to make Edgeworth feel better. He can only calm him down, and hope that he can figure it out himself.

"Come here." Phoenix whispers, trying to bring Miles into his lap. He struggles, pulling himself away and curling in on himself, anxiety clearly overtaking him despite his best efforts. Wright doesn't relent, and before long Miles is curled into Phoenix's shoulders, not quite grabbing on but fists clenched nonetheless, sputtering and coughing because he can't seem to calm himself down. "It's okay, I promise," Phoenix repeats, like a mantra as he clutches Edgeworth's shoulders and pets his hair down smooth. He fights back his own tears, wishing that Miles could acknowledge his accomplishments and see that he was okay, that Miles was here in his arms and that he would do anything for him.

Finally, Miles manages to calm down. He still won't hug Phoenix back, but he's relaxed enough to breathe; it hurts too much to do anything more than take small little puffs and spit them back out.

"Why don't you hate me?" Miles heaves, thinking how happy he was less than a week ago when Phoenix had agreed to date him, and not even the mention of his father could have upset him.

"Because I love you," Phoenix states firmly but gently, "and I will do whatever it takes to make you happy."

Miles finally chances a glance into Phoenix's eyes and is shocked by how much he can feel the other man's hurt from just one single look. But then, he's not really surprised, just in awe that someone could care so much for someone like him. "I love you too." He breathes, barely a whisper.

Phoenix smiles. It's a sad smile, but he sees that Miles is coherent enough to have at least a little sense, and that's good.

"Please don't leave me," Miles starts at a whisper, but ends in a sob, and before he knows it he's panting and sweating again in Phoenix's lap.

Phoenix sighs and continues to comfort him. Maybe he can't make all of Miles pain go away, or even make him see that yes, he's worthy of love even in moments like these, but at least Phoenix can calm him down.

Miles sighs. It's been a while since he's last hurt himself, but he doesn't understand why the urge isn't really going away like it did last time. Was it because last time, he was able to stave out for more time? Or was he in a different state of mind? Either way, he can't shake that feeling of misery every night, no matter how good his day was or how early he goes to bed. He can't believe that he's making progress, thinking to himself that he's triggering himself because maybe, he doesn't want to get better. Or maybe it's that he's not putting in the effort to get better. Which isn't true, or is it? Miles can't tell anymore. It's true that he could be trying more. But isn't that being too hard on himself, thinking he could be doing more? Or is it motivation to do better because he's still upset and wants very much to be happy? He isn't sure of that either. He isn't even sure he wants to be happy. Of course, he does, but that doesn't change the fact that he keeps finding himself here no matter what he does. Miles isn't at the bottom, per se; he's functioning, but he doesn't feel like he is, and the more he finds himself feeling this way, the more it feels like rock bottom. Doesn't that mean he doesn't really want to be happy, because if he did he wouldn't keep finding himself here, curled up in bed and thinking about all the locations that razors and pocket knives could be? Or how far the nearest store is and how much he's spent on replacement blades? Or how he could go back to burning in a pinch, because it wouldn't really be cutting?

He's triggering himself and he knows it, but he can't seem to stop. He knows it's unhealthy. Maybe he should call Phoenix, he thinks. Phoenix always says to talk to him, that he'll always listen. But Miles knows that talking about it will only make him more upset and further trigger him. He knows that he'll pay close attention whenever he gets a papercut or be careless when using a paper cutter for work for the next few days, and maybe, if something small happens, he'll give in to the urge and he'll have to start all over from day one. But if he doesn't talk about it, simply to not make a big deal out of nothing or to keep Phoenix from worrying on his behalf, it counts as repressing it in and is just as damaging to his mental health, right?

This in mind, he picks up the phone with the intent to call Phoenix. He tries not to beg for validation, but sometimes he feels like he really needs it. It never helps, but that doesn't mean anything to Miles when he's in a panic or a slum. He knows he shouldn't ask Phoenix for the answers, that only he himself, Miles Edgeworth, can do what he needs to do to get better. He knows what he needs to do, and he knows he can do it, but getting the motivation to do it, or to continue doing it after so many months? That, he's not so sure of. And when it's so easy for him to get anxious or overemotional about something, how can he expect his own judgement to be any good? Especially when he knowingly and purposefully causes himself harm despite knowing that he is, if fact, better than that and worth it. But at the same time, he doesn't know. Maybe he's not worth it. Maybe Phoenix is wrong.

Miles suddenly realizes that he hasn't taken a breath in a while. He inhales, but the second he does, he feels the sweat pour down his back and a rush of heat down his arms. He feels empty and tires and damnit Miles, you should go to bed! But he can't, and knows that the nightmares will come, or that he'll stay up in the dark just thinking, thinking, and all he wants to do is not have to worry about it for just one moment and do something concrete, something that he knows won't make him happy, but will make him something. The pain he'll feel will be concrete, and with it he can release all these feelings that he doesn't know what to do with or how to label them, but he might, just for a minute, be alright.

But then he thinks of Phoenix. He had finally convinced Phoenix that he could go home, just because he couldn't bear to know that he's hurting the person he loves the most with his pathetic not-problems. But he knows Phoenix wants to help.

But he doesn't know what else to do at this point and doesn't want to torment Phoenix with it. Not because he doesn't think the other man can take it; he's proven that he can and will time and time again, but because he knows that Phoenix will take it. He will take as much as he can until it is unhealthy for him to take on any more of Miles' stress and worry and turmoil, and then he will continue to take it on. Half of Miles worries that it will make Phoenix hate him and thus leave him or make him realize that it's not good for him to stay and thus leave him. The other half of miles, the logic and reason side, knows that Phoenix will stay no matter what Miles throws at him and will only be able to do so much until it eats away at him, and Miles treasures Phoenix way too much for that to happen. He debated coping alone, but then he thinks of spending another night like this, except without Phoenix there to be the thing that keeps him from carving up his legs, and shudders. Miles thinks that maybe he should go back to therapy. Scratch that; he needs to go back to therapy.

But then he thinks of all the times that he's picked up the phone and stared at the number, and how anxious he gets at just the thought of it. He'll have to make the appointment and then stress until the day of the appointment, stress the whole way there even though he knows it will be fine, and then re-explain his whole trauma from the beginning, but he knows that he'll forget all the important bits and knows that he's repressed so much of it, but also doesn't want to be judged solely on his past since it's not what's effecting him now; what's effecting him now is not learning how to deal with stress properly and having very high standards pushed on him from a very young age. But other than that, nothing is happening and the amount of problems he has with daily life is not equivalent to basically nothing, and it's very pathetic to go to therapy for that, let alone the medication aspect of it which he knows is a whole nother can of worms.

He resorts to scribbling on a piece of paper, hard enough to rip through it. He screams, gets no relief, and curls up on the cold bathroom tiles. The door is locked out of old habits even though he lives alone. He doesn't call Phoenix, but he doesn't hurt himself. He's not happy, and he doesn't know what to do, but he hopes that he might someday. He's glad he let Phoenix convince him not to go to work that day.


	7. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Can't Stand Up

A week passes, and Miles has had enough. Currently, he is sitting atop his closed toilet seat in nothing but a tank top. Miles hasn't talked to Phoenix in a week. Phoenix has called and texted him daily, but Miles refuses to respond. Phoenix has tried to approach him in court, but Miles dodges him and hides in his office. He's sure that Phoenix has tried to visit his home, but he's resorted to sleeping in his office a few nights a week. Not that he gets much rest, mostly opting to stay up into the early hours of the morning doing paperwork. The only reason he's home now is to do laundry, and he's stumbled across his phone where he left it a few days ago, charging on his nightstand. Head throbbing and hands numb, he scrolls through the myriad of worried messages Phoenix has sent him the last three days.

He hates this. He hates that Phoenix cares so much about him, Miles Edgeworth, who can't seem to be happy and just enjoy life, even though it's good. He has Phoenix. Why can't that be enough? Why can't he put his past behind him and live in the present? As he asks himself this for the hundredth, the tears start to slip, and the anxiety inevitably comes. With it also comes the shakes, the questions: 'I'm trying so hard, why am I still like this?' and of course, the itch. With each thought that passes through his mind, his wrists feel like they're swollen and his chest aches for relief.

At first, Miles refuses. 'I'm better than this,' he thinks, only to counter with another question; 'Am I though?' After all, he does keep trying to change, to do better, and every time so far, he's failed. After 15 years, he's still never learned to cope with stress properly, each little thing bringing him back to the same state he was in as a child. Miles thinks of this with a dry chuckle, although his eyes and cheeks are anything but dry. "What am I doing with my life?" he mutters to himself, placing his phone on the counter and standing up. He glares at himself in the mirror; Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth stares back.

He's finally had enough. He goes through the motions, grabbing a razor from the back of the medicine cabinet, pressing down and slowly sliding it across his thighs, watching the blood bubble up as his nerves stop tingling and his head stops spinning. His breathing and heartrate slow, and he's too far gone to notice that he's a little too blissed out. The blood isn't just beading anymore as Miles closes his eyes, just for a moment.

Miles jolts what seems like a moment later but is far from it. He gasps at the blood that's coating his thigh, a thick layer of sticky maroon. He reaches for his phone that's ringing on the counter, although it takes a few lunges before he gets it. Mind hazy, he answers without looking who it is. "Hello?" he mumbles.

"Miles?" It's Phoenix on the other end, and Miles sobers up. "Are you okay?"

"Um," Miles pulls wads of toilet paper off the roll to mop up the puddle he's sitting in. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Apparently, he's unconvincing, and Wright starts to ramble. "You don't sound okay. What's wrong? I'm coming over."

Miles panics. "No!" he shrieks, "I'm fine!" He finishes with a grimace; his leg is suddenly killing him.

"You don't sound fine."

"I-I am." Miles forces back a yelp as he brushes over one of the cuts on his leg in his efforts to clean himself up. "I don't want to see you." He says quieter, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

Wright is silent for a moment, before saying quietly, "You mean you don't want me to see you."

Edgeworth stops his movements, holding the bloody tissue in one hand and his phone in the other. "What?" he sputters, confused and a little scared. "I- I mean-" he stutters, questioning if Phoenix is breaking up with him or if he's figured out what's going on.

"I'm already on my way, I'll be right there." He hangs up at this, leaving Miles shaken up and terrified. He does not want Phoenix to find him like this. As quickly as he can without falling over, he stumbles over to the medicine cabinet again, grabbing rubbing alcohol, gauze, and tape. He replaces the blade in the cabinet after wiping it down and works on cleaning up the rest of what's on his legs. He bites his lip as he cleans the cuts; they're far deeper than he'd gone in a long time.

Applying pressure to the gashes, he curses. The bleeding won't stop no matter what he does, and Miles doesn't have the time, so he sloppily tapes as much gauze as he can over most of his upper thigh, praying it won't seep through. He runs through his house to his room and yanks on underwear and sweatpants in three seconds flat before racing back to the bathroom. In under a minute, the trash is full of used, bloody tissues but otherwise spotless, and his right thigh is on fire. The shame would be overwhelming if not for the adrenaline and outright fear at Phoenix finding him like this.

Miles is about to take care of the bathroom trash bag when he hears Phoenix at the door, knocking perpetually. He hobbles down the stairs after giving the bathroom a once over and stuffing clean toilet paper over the red splotchy ones in the garbage. Taking a deep breath and shifting his weight off his thigh, he opens the door and tries to dawn his usual calm expression.

Phoenix, obviously, isn't fooled for a moment. "Are you okay?"

Miles sighs, hoping he looks exasperated, but the crinkle in his brow says pain. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Phoenix looks at Miles like he has three heads. "Seriously? You've been ignoring me for almost a whole week, and the last time I saw you, you had a serious mental breakdown! What's going on?"

Miles pales. He feels a sharp pang of guilt because Phoenix is right. Miles knows he deserves at least an apology and an explanation. "I'm sorry," he sighs, turning his head away for a moment before forcing himself to meet Phoenix's eyes. "I just-" he struggles with his feelings for a moment, remembering all the negativity that he harbors towards himself, and frowns. "It's honestly nothing. A lot of it's in my head, just what I tell myself, but it's kind of true, and…" he putters, and the pain in his leg is suddenly nothing anymore, and Miles fights the urge to scratch at his skin. "It's just a lot," he finishes lamely.

Phoenix's ever worried face softens, and he walks in from the doorway. He goes into the living room and Miles follows. They both sit down about a foot away from each other, and Phoenix doesn't miss the careful way that Miles sits, favoring his right side. He's not stupid; he knows what's going on, and the idea that Miles might have gone farther had he not called petrifies him.

"Miles, how bad is it?"

The accused can't meet the defense attorney's intense gaze. Edgeworth starts to fidget, and his breathing gets labored. Phoenix feels bad immediately and takes Miles' hands into his own, holding them tightly. However, his tone remains stern.

"Miles, this is serious. Please look at me."

Ashamed and disappointed in himself, Miles takes a breath and turns his eyes to Phoenix. The flurry of emotions in his eyes is almost too much. He sees that Phoenix is more than worried; he's scared. The realization that he's caused this much disarray in someone else's life with his actions hurts him deeply.

Phoenix sees that Edgeworth is still disturbed and nervous and he's still shaking, but he's not on the verge on a panic attack. He's not sure he wants to ask this of Miles, for his own sake as well as for humiliating his boyfriend, but he feels as if he doesn't really have a choice anymore. "Let me see how bad it is."

Miles' heart is racing. He doesn't want Phoenix to worry any more than he already has, so starts shifting to show him, but stops. He looks up at Phoenix wordlessly, hoping that he can convey what he's feeling in silence since he doesn't trust his voice.

Wright see's that Edgeworth is tearing up, and the defeated look he's getting hurts so very much. He wishes he could just kiss away Miles' pain, just like that first night, but he knows that right now is not the time for that. "Take as long as you need, alright? I'm here, it's okay."

Miles nods, looking down again, as if the grey of his sweatpants is the most interesting thing in he world right now. His leg is a little numb, but also like a low throb, and he notices a small red splotch starting to form through his pants. He sighs, giving in to his fate. With his eyes loosely but firmly shut, he shimmies his pants down to his ankles and tucks his feet under his thighs. He hears Phoenix gasp very lightly and the shame curls into his stomach even more.

Very gently, Phoenix peels back the gauze that's nothing more than a mess of blood by now, wanting to be sure that he doesn't need to get stitches. He doesn't realize, but he's holding his breath, and when the air hits Miles' skin, he closes his eyes. "Oh, Miles," Wright groans softly.

It's now that Edgeworth picks his head up to look at his lover's face. He looks heartbroken, and that alone makes Edgeworth's eyes tear up. "I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely, "Do you hate me?"

Phoenix's eyes snap up. "No, never," he replies, tone surprised. "I just wish you wouldn't do this to yourself."

The two sit in silence for a few moments, Miles feeling less nervous now that his secret is out and Phoenix upset, but relieved that Miles is here and with him, breathing and alive and talking to him. He brings Miles' hands into his own, rubbing circles into his knuckles and tracing along the length of Edgeworth's fingers with his own. He's having a hard time knowing what it is exactly he's feeling right now other than incredibly sad. All he knows for sure is that this is not something that he's just going to push to the sidelines anymore.

"Miles. This needs to stop."

"I know," Edgeworth responds, looking down to watch what Phoenix is doing. "But I'm trying."

"I know you are," Wright says, still stroking his hands, "I don't want to, but if this continues, I'm going to tell Lana." Miles' reaction is predictable; he starts breathing a little heavier and crying a little harder, but Phoenix shushes him, repeats that it's okay, and holds him until he calms down enough to breathe. "You know you can talk to me, right?" Phoenix gives him a dry, sad smile, and Miles nods. "I'm still here aren't I?" Miles nods again, and Phoenix draws him in by his shoulders to hug him. "I love you, Miles. I care about you."

Miles leans his cheek into Phoenix's shoulder and can't hold back anymore. "I love you too," he bawls, grabbing at Phoenix's clothes and sniffling.

"I need you to promise me this won't happen again." Phoenix holds eye contact with Miles. "Promise me you won't hurt yourself anymore."

Miles knows Phoenix is right; this is getting out of hand. "I want to, but I can't." he says softly.

"You can," Phoenix insists. "I know you're trying, but you need to do better. This can't go on."

"I know," Miles says.

"I know you know, but you need to do it. I know it's hard, but it's a choice." Phoenix pauses, and Miles' brows furrow. He knows Phoenix is right and he nods. Wright continues: "I want to help you, but I can't if you keep pushing me away. Promise me that whenever you feel like hurting yourself, you'll come and talk to me."

Miles thinks for a second before nodding again. "I promise." He replies, and he means it. He doesn't want to hurt Phoenix ever again, and if that means doing whatever it takes to not cut himself anymore, then that's what he'll have to do. "I love you," he says under his breath, the words still a bit foreign in his mouth despite meaning them with all his being.

Phoenix smiles, glad that Miles is finally listening to him. "I love you too," he chuckles despite the situation. His heart still does little leaps at the concept of Miles Edgeworth being in love with him. "Now let's get you cleaned up. Wait right here."

Wright checks the medicine cabinet in Miles' upstairs bathroom. He grabs a couple ibuprofen, some bandages, cotton balls, and the same gauze, tape, and alcohol Miles had used before. Before retreating downstairs, he looks around. Nothing seems out of place, and he really doesn't want to nose around and find something that he doesn't want to see; he already knows the extent of Miles' condition. He quickly washes his hands, turns off the light, and jogs back down the stairs.

Miles is exactly where Phoenix had left him on the couch. His head is leaned back, and his eyes are closed. His breathing is steady, but he seems drained. Phoenix kneels next to him and puts what's in his arms on the couch. He looks to Miles' face before he starts, but his eyes remain shut. Neither man saying a word, he soaks a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and lightly dabs it on the wounds, starting with the small slivers and working up to the gashes. He looks up at Edgeworth's face several times, and it's only on the largest one that Miles crinkles his nose and breathes in sharply on. Phoenix runs a thumb along a small one that's already closed, and Miles looks down at that, watching Phoenix's motions with a blank face, waiting to see what he'll do and if he'll say anything.

Looking through the band aid box, Phoenix finds a butterfly bandage and applies it to the deepest cuts. For the smaller ones, he looks for a regular band aid, but the area is already inflamed, so he settles for a few layers of gauze with some adhesive and pulls the fabric of Miles boxers down as far as they will go over the area. Miles watches as he gets up and presumably walks into the kitchen to throw away the old gauze, dirty cotton balls, and band aid backs. Miles pokes at the area until he gets back, observing Phoenix's handiwork. He's not sure how he feels about it other than guilty.

Phoenix comes back with a glass of water and two tabs of ibuprofen in his hand. He hands them to Miles, who takes them wordlessly, and then sits down next to him. They sit together, Miles leaning on Phoenix and with one of Phoenix's arms around Miles, the other holding his hands. Phoenix breathes in the scent of Miles hair. Miles thinks that he doesn't deserve this but forces the thought down. He focuses on the feeling of Phoenix's thumb rubbing the backs of his hands and allows it to calm his. Phoenix is absolutely right, Miles decides as he dozes off. Enough is enough.


	8. Chapter 9

Phoenix has been keeping a close eye on Miles since the incident last week. Since then, Miles has been coming to him more often, more times very upset than not. He thinks that this is a more accurate representation of Miles' mood, and how Miles has just been keeping it a secret how upset he really was this whole time. However, he's glad that Miles is finally opening up and accepting the help that he's both needed and wanted this whole time.

That doesn't decrease the amount that Phoenix worries. Just because Miles is telling him when he feels like cutting doesn't mean he won't slip up. Wright trusts him, but he knows that Miles' mind and trauma can get the best of him, despite how hard he's trying to resist them.

Phoenix stands from his desk, stretching his legs. His eyes flick to his phone as he debates checking up on Edgeworth. He doesn't want to seem like he's harassing or babying the other man, but he worries. Miles does tend to take on more than anyone really should. "Work can wait," Phoenix sighs and calls Miles.

He's frustrated to say the least. Miles hasn't felt like this for a long while. Sometimes it's like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Other times, the urges are all worse and his anxiety is so bad that Miles is afraid he might actually have a heart attack. It's one of those times right now, and he's sitting in his office, all his paperwork laid out in front of him and he feels like it's literally suffocating him. Caught up in problems that will mean nothing in a few weeks time, he's taking on everything at once and it's overwhelming. Even though Miles knows full well that if he just took a step back and set up a schedule to manage his time, he could get it done with a bit of time but no problems, he can't bring himself away from the effects of the stress.

All he wants to do is slice his skin, but he instead settles for trying to calm down and approach it reasonably. Of course, that would be easier if he could steady his breathing, shaking, and heartrate. Just as he thinks that he can't take it anymore and reaches for his phone to call Phoenix, a call comes in. It's Miles' lucky day; his help has come to him.

"Hey Miles," Phoenix's voice is chipper, but Edgeworth isn't fooled for a moment; he's concerned. "Just thinking of you. How you holding up?"

Edgeworth laughs. "I'm..." he trails off before laughing again. "I'm glad you called. Saved me the trouble." He meant that; just because he was devoted to asking for his lover's help, didn't mean it was any easier on his pride.

Wright was about to say, "what's wrong?" before deciding against it. "You want me to stop by?"

"Please," Miles blurts. It didn't matter that he was at work, Lana had probably figured it out already. Hell, Phoenix and Gumshoe had, and Miles knew he wasn't as discreet as he once was.

"On my way," Phoenix said, already grabbing his coat. Work could wait.

Whether he was working a case or looking out for Miles, it never took Phoenix long to get where he was going. Today is no exception as he pounds on the prosecutor's door. The door opens a sliver and a hesitant Edgeworth cowers behind, looking out to make sure it was Phoenix. He lets him in, closing the door and locking it behind him before collapsing into Phoenix's arms.

As he holds the crying prosecutor, Phoenix takes inventory. His desk is a mess, but his trashcan, visible from the doorway, holds only papers. There are no signs of blood anywhere, and Miles hadn't resorted to throwing things. As for the boy himself, he's panting hard, but he seems to be calming down already, sniffling and opening his once shut-tight eyes. It doesn't look like he's holding it in, either. He seems to be genuinely calming down, for which Phoenix was grateful; it was emotionally exhausting to deal with an irrational, upset Edgeworth.

Stroking the taller man's grey hair, Phoenix guides him over to his desk chair to sit and kneels in front of him. "You good now?" He asks softly, holding Miles' hands.

Miles shakes his head "no," but responds with a quiet, "Yes." Phoenix doesn't pick up on it, but the head shake is merely an attempt to keep Miles' mind in the present.

"Overwhelmed with work?" Phoenix asks, to which Miles nods.

"Yes, and I'm afraid it brings out the worst in me."

"Don't be ashamed, you're alright."

Edgeworth smiles, grateful that Phoenix has picked up on the emotions that are usually associated with his panic attacks; it just shows how much he cares. "I'm not ashamed, Wright." He chuckles, trying not to dwell. Focusing on Phoenix in front of him has been working more and more for that, and it's such a relief to feel something positive amid what feels like, but totally isn't, the end of the world. "It's okay, right?"

Phoenix smiles, incredibly proud of how far Miles has come, before he realizes from the expectant look on the other's face that he's asked a question, not made a statement. "Yes, it's okay." He answers encouragingly, flushed from mishearing his name.

Miles doesn't miss it, and he laughs at Wright's error. "Thanks, Phoenix." He closes his eyes and sighs. His mind is blank. It's nice, but as soon as he notices it, he remembers the stress and the trauma; all of it. He simply sighs, knowing it's in the past and that Phoenix is right, it will be okay, and that he really should take a moment for his sanity.

Attuned to Miles' tell tales, Phoenix pulls him back in, and though his eyes are still shut, he cradles him and rubs his back comfortingly. "It'll be alright. Just do what you can."

"It's all I can do." Miles says calmly, finishing the sentence that Phoenix has said countless times before. It's comforting because he knows it's right. He opens his eyes and smiles up at Phoenix. He's still stressed, but he takes a few moments to himself before shooing his boyfriend away and continuing his work. He deserves it.


End file.
